


Contrition and Penance

by Laylah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Blasphemy, F/M, Genderfuck, M/M, Past Fic, Rough Sex, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-14
Updated: 2007-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bless me, father,” Greed says, enjoying the taste of the ritual words, “for I have sinned.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrition and Penance

Greed’s boots echo on slate as he walks up the church’s central aisle, breathing in the scents of votives and incense. So much for superstition—he’s yet to be struck by lightning, or burst into flames, or even feel the mildest discomfort. He smiles, swaggering toward the confessional.

There’s always a chance that nobody will be here to hear his confession, this late at night, but it’s so much more _fun_ when he can take his time. He didn’t see anyone, but a few moments after he closes the latticed door and makes himself as comfortable as possible, there’s a soft rustle of cloth from the other side of the partition.

“Bless me, father,” Greed says, enjoying the taste of the ritual words, “for I have sinned.”

“How long has it been since your last confession?” his priest asks. He sounds young. Greed pictures him fresh-faced and clean-shaven, just now old enough to have taken his vows.

“A fortnight, perhaps?” Something like that, anyway. Since the shock and outrage, and then the horror, and then the golden brilliance of flames against the black sky.

The priest makes a soft, neutral sound, almost a condemnation but not quite. “Then confess your sins, my son, that you might be forgiven.”

Greed stretches out as best he can in the narrow booth—the damn things just aren’t built to let a man get comfortable—and purrs to himself as he considers where to start. “I’ve killed a few men,” he says thoughtfully. There’s a coughing noise from the other side of the partition. “Four or five, maybe.”

“You don’t even remember?” He can’t be imagining it now; that must be disapproval in the priest’s voice. “Is life worth so little to you?”

Greed laughs. “If we’re going to debate my transgressions, father, we’ll be here till dawn.”

There’s a short, angry exhale from the other side of the screen. “Please, continue.”

This isn’t going to take very long. So few men of the cloth have any stomach for their work, it seems. “Four or five murders,” Greed says again, smiling. “One of them over a gambling debt.” He runs his tongue over the points of his teeth. “But gambling is a lesser sin, isn’t it, father?”

“It is merely for your own convenience,” the priest reminds him, “that you are encouraged to list mortal sins first. Please, continue in whatever order you see fit.”

“Thank you,” Greed says, as obnoxiously gracious as he can manage. “The best of the murders, of course, was over a woman. All the really good sins are.”

“You don’t,” the priest says tightly, “sound as though you’re ready to repent. Confession should not be an occasion for arrogance.”

“My apologies, father,” Greed says. He drops his tone to the low purr he uses with nice girls who are about to surrender their virtue. “I’ll stop wasting your time, shall I? We’ll cut right to the important one.” He leans toward the screen, the bench creaking under him as he shifts his weight. “Last night I fucked the woman who gave me life.”

There’s a moment of pure, held-breath silence. Greed pictures the poor young priest struggling to contain his horror. “You had...relations with your mother?” the priest asks at last, his voice a low strained whisper that sounds more outraged than revolted. Good. Maybe he’ll fight back.

“I have no _mother_ , little man,” Greed says. “I’m a demon. But I fucked the greedy bitch who brought me into this world, and I’ll do it again until she moans my name.”

Something on the other side of the partition cracks, splinters loudly. “You have no _name_ , you son of a bitch,” growls the voice from the other side, the shadow of the figure rising shifting lunging coming _through_ the screen just a second too fast for Greed to dodge, shape still changing as the monster crashes into him. It’s huge, all jaws and burning eyes, and Greed feels his shield rising over his flesh before his back even hits the floor.

“Envy,” he says, claws out to swipe at the dire wolf as it snaps and snarls, “I didn’t know you’d taken vows.”

“I’m no more a churchman than you are, you liar,” Envy growls, his throat almost too distorted to form the words. “You weren’t with her last night.”

“No?” Greed asks, his claws sinking into the thick fur at Envy’s throat, looking for purchase in the flesh that must be underneath. “Were you, then?”

Envy’s fangs tear at his face, and Greed snarls at the sharp heat of pain. “No, you self-absorbed bastard.” He pulls back, weight centered over Greed’s hips, and as the haze of blood clears from his eyes Greed can see him shifting again, taking a very familiar shape: blond and sleepy-eyed and amply curved, pouting with a whore’s red mouth. “I was with _you_ , for all you bothered to notice.”

Greed laughs in surprise, closing his hands around Envy’s waist, picking him up and throwing him at the wall. “How long have you been following me?” he asks, climbing to his feet. Splinters of the confessional booth crunch under his boots as he paces toward Envy, his shirt torn and sticky with blood, his claws dripping with it.

“Long enough, you bastard,” Envy says. He crawls out of the votive shrine Greed threw him into, pushing the rest of it over so candles go flying and glass shatters. The dress he’s wearing is just the way Greed left it last night, tattered and torn, hanging off his shoulder to expose the ripe lush curve of one breast. Glass shards slowly work their way out of his flesh as he paces toward Greed, bloodied and vicious and beautiful. “How long do you think you’ve been fucking me, brother?”

“ _Not_ long enough,” Greed says. That’s an easy one. Envy narrows his eyes, still wearing the whore’s shape, and Greed lunges for him—but no matter what shape he’s wearing, Envy always seems to be faster than Greed, avoiding the swipe of Greed’s claws and turning in the air to kick him in the back of the head, knocking him into the front pews. The cheap wood of the pew splinters when Greed’s shielded body collides with it, and he skids to a halt with his claws raking at the stone floor.

“Liar,” Envy says again. His own voice—the one he claims to have invented, along with the shape he wears at home—is coming through now, replacing the flirtatious tones of the whore.

Greed cracks his neck, sitting up but not coming after Envy again, not yet. “I’m the liar, when you won’t even come fuck me with your own face on?”

Envy pouts, perching on the altar, shoving aside the chalice and the cross so he’ll have room to sit. “And who says I wanted to fuck you?” He sits like a boy, leaning back on one hand with his foot braced on the edge of the altar, and his skirts fall immodestly enough that Greed can see the bare pink lips of his cunt.

“You say it with everything but your mouth whenever we’re in the same room.” Now Greed does stand, but slowly, still not coming _too_ close. He lets his shield retract, watching the wary look in Envy’s eyes. “Come on. Take that off, and let me see you with your own face on.”

“Hah.” Envy gives him a coy little smirk. “You’re so full of yourself, Greed.”

That’s as good as an invitation, more or less. “What do you want, Envy?” Greed asks, ignoring the debris under his feet as he comes closer.

“Nothing you’ll give me,” Envy says, lifting his other leg to match the first. His cunt glistens wet, and he smirks when he sees Greed looking. “What do _you_ want, Greed?”

Greed smiles. “Anything I can get,” he replies, and when he gets close enough Envy reaches out to wrap both legs around his waist and pull him closer. Greed reaches down between them with one hand to unbutton his breeches, and Envy, like a coy little bitch, lets him.

Envy’s cunt is slick and tight, just the way Greed likes it, and he makes a little breathy moan just like the whore last night when Greed thrusts in. Either he really was the whore, or he was watching them and killed her afterward.

Greed decides not to ask which. “Nice,” he purrs, leaning forward, laying Envy out across the altar. “You feel so good, brother.”

Envy laughs. “Can demons have brothers, Greed?” He rests his hands on Greed’s shoulders, and Greed lets his shield down so Envy’s nails can scratch his back.

“For the sake of compounding their sins? Of course they can.” Greed bites at Envy’s throat, but gently, not breaking the skin. Envy rocks his hips, slippery and wet, and Greed could almost convince himself that he could be satisfied with this—but he had this fuck last night, and besides, it’s what Envy is willing to give him.

So he pulls out, laughing at the low noise of protest that Envy makes, and shoves his cock up Envy’s ass instead.

“Bastard!” Envy hisses, his nails digging into Greed’s skin. He’s even tighter like this, and nowhere near so wet—the juices from his cunt make him just slick enough that Greed can move, but there’s no way this can be comfortable for him. But Envy’s always liked it rougher than he lets on, so Greed just smiles.

“Come on, brother, you know me,” he says, pushing Envy’s thigh up and out so he can thrust deeper. “There’s not much that holds my interest for more than one go. Now put your own face back on.”

Envy stiffens for a second as he takes that in—Greed can practically _see_ him trying to decide whether to accept the compliment buried in the viciousness. “Son of a bitch,” he says at last, and then he’s changing in Greed’s arms, around Greed’s cock, soft curves melting into a denser, leaner shape that’s all black and white and hard breathtaking lines.

“Yes,” Greed moans, reaching down between them and finding Envy’s cock already hard.

“You fuck,” Envy answers, thrusting into his hand, “you bastard, you stupid piece of shit,” and Greed would bet that nobody else _ever_ makes him move like this, pinned and stuffed full and only struggling enough that Greed has to think about holding him down, never enough that it’s _difficult_.

“That’s right,” Greed breathes, fucking Envy fast and hard, careless of bruising now the way he can never be with human playthings, “I hate you, too, Envy, fuck,” and he just barely manages to keep himself from saying _don’t stop_ , because then Envy would, and instead he says, “If you want to come, brother, do it now—I’m not waiting for you.”

And Envy hisses, growls, “I don’t want to, I don’t want you, I don’t, aah–” and shudders in his hand, come sticky and hot, and Greed brings his fingers to his lips to taste it, the faint trace of red stone that’s in all of Envy’s fluids, and Envy’s glare says he knows that’s what Greed’s after but still Envy gave it to him, _gave_ it to him, and Greed shoves his cock in deep and comes on that thrill.

He gives Envy the same few moments he’d give anyone before he pulls out—and that’s much smoother going now, Envy’s ass slick with his come—and stands up. “Get what you needed, brother?”

“Fuck you,” Envy spits. Greed wants to suggest that they could do that next, but he bites his tongue, because Envy’s shifting again. “Burning churches, Greed?” He finishes the shift and it’s _her_ , cold-eyed and proud in the body she wears these days. Firelight from somewhere behind them flares, making her face look sharp and hungry, demonic. “The rumors do make it sound like him, don’t they? Envy, go see what you can find.”

Greed feels cold, nearly as sick as when she threatened him with that skull before he finally left for good. “No,” he says, taking a step back before he can help himself.

Envy glares, the raw expression strange on her face. “Get out of here, Greed.” It’s his own voice, at least; it’s as near as Envy comes to being honest. “Get out of here, and find a new fucking pastime. Something that draws less attention to yourself.”

He should just say yes; he should just leave. “Or else what?” Greed asks as he takes another step back. He can feel heat behind him now; the candles they knocked over must have found tinder in the splintered pews.

“Or next time we’ll all be here,” Envy says, flickering through other shapes, Gluttony and Pride and Wrath, before he settles in his own again. “And you won’t stand a fucking chance.”

Greed runs.


End file.
